An Alien on Broadway
by rikkucheerio
Summary: This is the immediate follow-on to This Starts Here.  The beginnings of Jenny's new life in New York City.
1. Chapter 1

_[A/N: Decided to do Part Two of _This Starts Here_ as a separate story entirely to help show the change in feeling.]_

It's a classic New York diner that Jen finds herself in at almost four in the morning on Thursday. She has no idea how she found this place; she popped out of the subway in one place thinking she was in another. She had walked in the direction she thought she needed to go only to find out she wasn't anywhere near where she needed to be. The only saving grace was the small diner and the blinking COFFEE sign in the window. She's in too much pain to walk back the direction she came from. The avenues are so damn long between streets and she's too broke to take a cab all over the city. But that's the problem with the subway-$2.25 will get you all the way from the Bronx to the Financial District and turn your equilibrium around 360 degrees in the process.

All Jen wants to do right now is hide in the corner of one of the vinyl booths and take some of the Vicodin she has tucked in her pocket for when she can't take the pain anymore. She's so, so careful with it, probably to the point where she's not taking it enough. She has a strange relationship with pills. She dutifully takes the ones that likely aren't doing much, but she's afraid of the ones that can help.

As she tugs the pills from her pocket, she realizes her medications resemble her life as it is right now. Briefly, she wonders if she should even be taking the Vicodin now, while she still has yet to navigate her way back to the hotel. But eventually, she decides she'll just take a cab this time. That will at least make sure she doesn't end up in Harlem stoned, alone, and unarmed. She could have handled that before, but not at a fraction of herself now. Knowing her luck lately, she'll probably end up with that one psychopathic cab driver from all the movies.

A woman-older than Jen-comes over, pulling a pencil from behind her ear. She doesn't say anything, just looks at the redhead expectantly. She's used to New Yorkers just telling her what they want without prompting or without greeting. Jen's too tired to even fake a smile. "Coffee, please," she says and with a quick glance at the woman's name tag, adds, "Doreen, with cream and sugar." And Doreen doesn't even bat an eye. She's had all kinds come through her door. This one was one of the most normal to wander in around this time of night. But she looks like hell.

Jen watches Doreen leave and picks up the water glass that materialized in front of her at some point. She tosses back the Vicodin with a big swig and sets the glass back down. Doreen comes back a moment later with a mug and a carafe in one hand and a bowl of non-dairy creamer containers in the other. Maybe if she had been thinking clearly, Jen would have avoided this diner. It reminds her too much of the diner in the desert.

Doreen fills the white porcelain mug with a touch of flair and a surprisingly Southern accent, "What's his name, hon?"

Jen blinks, taking a moment to realize, first, Doreen is talking to her, and second, that she was just called 'hon'. "Excuse me?"

"That look, I've seen it before," she answers, setting the mug on the table, "Usually it's the men who're wanderin' in at this time of night."

She sighs. She'll never see this woman again, there's no harm in answering her mostly honestly. Even though Jen doesn't like not having the upper hand in conversations. And this particular conversation completely blindsided her. "Jethro. His name is Jethro."

"Hm," she remembers the bowl of creamer and sets it on the table, "I'm sure you know he's probably hurtin' as much as you are. And don't say you're not, hon, because it's as plain as the nose on your face."

Jen snorts softly. Doreen doesn't even know the half of it. Of course the pain is obvious; that's what the Vicodin is for. But as much as Jen hates to admit it, Doreen is right. She knows he probably tore through his house like a hurricane and she knows he slept as well as she did last night. Clearly, she's not sleeping at all tonight. Just before she'd left, her body had finally started to find a natural circadian rhythm. And now that he wasn't there beside her, she couldn't sleep at all. She can't decide where the pain in her chest is coming from, but she knows it isn't all because of her surgery.

She looks down at the mug before looking back up at Doreen, but doesn't say anything. There's no point in denying it. Doreen continues, "There's always time to fix things until suddenly, there isn't. When I was younger, I made mistakes with the man I loved. I pushed him away more than once. One day, I realized all the mistakes I'd made. But by then, it was too late to fix anything; he'd passed on."

Except Jen isn't in the mood for a lecture, least of all from someone who doesn't know anything about her. Or from someone who thinks she knows everything. "While I appreciate the advice, Doreen, but not every story has a happy ending." Her story doesn't. She's made sure of that. It just ends.

Doreen shrugs off the comment, "Sweetheart, you look like you could use a happy ending and a good night's sleep," and walks away.

She doesn't want to admit how right Doreen is or how much this hurts. She had fooled herself into thinking it wouldn't hurt quite like it does. A little, yes, but not like she pulled her heart out and put it on the table. She misses him so much. But she has to keep going on this road. She knows he still loves her; isn't that enough?

Jen wraps her fingers around the mug and closes her eyes, taking in a deep breath, letting it out slow. If she blocks out the sounds in the diner, she can almost feel his arms wrapped around her, making her feel warm and comfortable. Opening her eyes again, she's faced with the sterile light, the empty diner, and the cold fact that it's just the Vicodin starting to work.

No more tears. Jenny Shepard doesn't cry.


	2. Chapter 2

_[A/N: Sorry this is so long in coming. My writing partner has been missing in action, which has kind of thrown a wrench in my updating. I realize this might work better as the third chapter, but without my partner, I still don't know where Jen and Gibbs stand with each other. At any rate, thank you to the loyal readers and for the reviews. :) ]_

Today had started out badly for Jenny and as the hours passed, she wasn't feeling any better. Everything she read said she'd have two bad days for every one good day and so far, it seemed to be holding fairly true. One step forward, two back. She hasn't even ventured out into the city yet today. Jen had at least dragged herself out of bed, but she'd only made it as far as the chair in the corner by the desk.

Ever since she had woken up in the hospital in California, she'd had this nagging thought in the back of her mind: had Jethro called her mother? She was silently terrified that her mother and sister had found out about her "death" via CNN. Over a month later, she still had no idea if her family knew what had happened. She'd always meant to ask Jethro, but the time never seemed right. It's almost funny how, even then, she had more pressing issues on her mind. And now, she'd driven a tense wedge between herself and Gibbs, so asking him still felt wrong.

Then she arrived at the idea of calling them herself.

She almost feels like she's in witness protection, but it's far less structured and more cruel than the WITSEC program. At least if she'd been forced into it, she'd have been set up with a job and an apartment instead of being thrust into the world with nothing but the shirt on her back. Poor decision making on her part. Not that she'll admit to it.

So what was stopping her from calling her mother and Heather? Jethro would probably yell at her, for one. But the difference between covering up and hiding in witness protection is that she doesn't need protecting. Gibbs and Mike Franks had seen to that. The only ones she's hiding from are NCIS specifically and the government as a whole. And then, all she needs is a new identity.

Could letting her family know be that big a deal? It isn't as if the government is looking for her. Jen pulls her knees up to her chest, her toes sticking off the edge of the seat. She has the use of her arm again, but she's in need of major rehabilitation. Eight weeks with it spent in an immobilizer has severely decreased the strength she used to have. She tries not to think about how much she'll have lost permanently because of the ALS compounded with the immobility.

She tucks her arm between her body and her thighs as she wraps her other arm around her knees. The phone is just right there; she could call if she wanted to. It's not like it's the long distance charges that are stopping her. No, it's more like breaking a long silence or putting the first word on a piece of paper. Her family should know by now, some way or another, and to just call out of the blue-posthumously-would be hard on them, especially her mother. But there's a strong desire to let them know she's okay.

Jen shakes her head slightly. The more she thinks about this, the worse the idea sounds. That's what happens when gut instincts have logic and reason applied to them. She can't call. If they think she's gone, they're better off still believing that. It would be cruel and selfish of her to tell them she's okay now only to not be okay a year or two from now.

And now she's arrived at the decision to let them grieve.

Unfolding herself from the chair, Jenny decides she's done sitting around. She's going to force herself to go out, to find some trouble to get into, to reclaim her confidence in one big grasp. She slips out of her shorts and into a pair of tight, dark wash jeans. She's not sure what she's looking for, but moping around, feeling sorry for herself isn't going to help her in the least.

She's definitely looking for trouble. She doesn't know where Jethro is right now, so she leaves him a short note, but without a cell phone and without knowing where she herself is going, she'll be difficult to find. But the very last line she writes is one saying she plans to come back to him.

Jen grabs her key card and her metro card and her cash and sets off to find an acceptable bar with good liquor.


	3. Chapter 3

_[A/N: Thanks for reviewing! This one takes place the same night as the previous chapter.]_

It's a pretty low-key place, with just one guy at the door checking IDs. He had easily fallen to Jen's wit and charm, letting her in without any kind of ID at all. And once past him, the bartender passed out the liquor as long as she passed him the cash. The jukebox in the corner is pounding out some older Breaking Benjamin song-Blow Me Away, to be exact-but Jen's not there for the music. It sounds so much like Abby's music, she barely even notices it.

From her perch atop the bar, Jenny has a perfect view of the establishment. She can't remember how she got up there, but she doesn't really care, either. On her right, she has… What was his name again? Mark, maybe? And on her left is a guy who hasn't even told her his name yet. From up here, she can see the other guys watching her and the girlfriends glaring at her. It didn't take long for these guys to start buying her drinks like she's some kind of siren.

She sits there, flirting mercilessly with Mark on her right and Nameless on her left and Jack the Bartender at her back. They keep buying her drinks and she keeps putting them back like they're water. Normally, the bartender would keep a loose count on a girl like her, but tonight, she's got him wrapped around her little finger. She says "one more" and he says "yes, ma'am".

And it feels so fucking good.

When the hour for last call rolls around, Nameless gets lost in the sea of twenty-somethings and Jack is stuck closing up. But Mark on her right sticks close and as the lights come up, he's pressed up against her knees, looking up at her. The left shoulder of her over-sized sweater had started slipping and at some point, she stopped trying to right it, exposing her bare shoulder with the red bra strap and the top of the scar that points like an arrow down between her breasts. She leans forward, giving him an even better view at the rest of her, and says, "Help me down?" but it's not really a question. Jen doesn't have to ask; he's practically tripping over himself when she finally lets him touch her for the first time this evening.

Mark wraps his hands around her middle and plucks her from the bar top, but even with her feet firmly on the grimy floor, neither pulls away. He's close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek and smell the beer on him. When he starts to move in to kiss her, she turns and untangles herself from his hands, heading for the door. Mark watches after her, confused, until she looks over her shoulder at him with one of those smirks of hers.

By the time he catches up with her, she's outside and already starting down the sidewalk. He comes up beside her and smiles down at her. She's quite a bit shorter than he is, but it doesn't bother her. She grins back as she walks in an unsteady path down the sidewalk, bumping into him every few feet.

"Do you live close?" he asks, leaning in close.

The upper floors of the Holiday Inn can be seen over some of the shorter buildings down the black and she points towards the top of the building. "Just up there," she says, her words a little slurred.

"I figured you as a W kinda girl," he answers. Unlike Jen, his size helps him hold his liquor a little better.

She stops walking and pokes his chest with one finger, then flattens her palm against him, "You have no idea, Mark." She turns back towards the hotel and starts walking again, adding, "I used to be somebody. Somebody really, really important."

"Oh yeah?" he comes up behind her as they wait at a corner for the light to change. He tries to wrap an arm around her, but she just casts a look over her shoulder. Very much the old Jen. He gets the message and stops moving abruptly.

"Yeah and then," she starts as the walk like changes from stop to go. She doesn't finish her sentence, though, as the curb in front of her goes out of its way to trip her up. Mark's reflexes are too slow and Jen ends up on the sidewalk. She's too drunk to realize what just happened. She couldn't walk a straight line to save her life right now which just makes her symptoms that much more pronounced. Sober, she'd be mortified. "Oh shit," she says with a small giggle. Mark helps her up and she smacks his chest and adds, "What good are you?"

"I'm good at a lot of other things. Maybe I can redeem myself," he answers, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her closer.

Jen just gives him that same warning look and pushes back with both hands on his chest. He lets out a frustrated sigh as she turns around again. The hotel is just in front of them and she leads him into the lobby, then up to her room. She fishes her cards from her pocket, first pulling out the metro card. "It's too bad the metro card won't unlock my door," she says, "It should be able to because I said it should."

Mark is again moving in on her to kiss her, but just as soon as she gets the key card out, the door opens. It's late enough that the hotel just has that feeling of everyone being asleep. Everyone except Gibbs.

"Jethro," she purrs, stepping into him and draping her arms over his shoulders. She smiles up at him, then turns over her shoulder, "This is Mark. He bought me really good bourbon." Gibbs just raises his eyebrows, but gives nothing else away with his expression as he looks over the younger man.

"Uh, it's Chris, actually," he answers with fear in his voice, "And I just wanted to make sure she got home okay. Sir."

"She did," Gibbs says in that way that doesn't invite any more conversation.

Chris doesn't waste any more time in the hallway and quickly heads on his own way home. Gibbs untangles himself from Jen and closes the door. When he turns around, she's right there and drapes her arms over his shoulders again.

"Let's run away to Mexico, Jethro," she drawls, closing her eyes, "To that beach of yours, where we won't need social security numbers or jobs or anything and we can just be."

"You're drunk, Jen." She wouldn't be suggesting that idea if she weren't and Gibbs knows this. Doesn't matter how good of an idea it is.

"Only a little," she opens her eyes again and smiles at him."

"A lot. How much did you have?" but he hasn't pulled away from her yet.

She kisses him, "I lost count. Does it matter?" But she doesn't wait for him to answer and pulls away, walking further into the room.

"Might," he says as she starts peeling her sweater off. She drops the garment on the bed and turns around to face him, standing there in the middle of the room in just her jeans and candy red bra. All Gibbs can do for a moment is stare.

"Pick your chin up off the floor, Jethro," she says, crossing over to him again. She tangles the fingers of one hand in his hair and pulls him forward with her other.

"Jen…" she keeps walking backwards toward the bed, pulling him with her. His eyes travel south to the scar that still looks very new. He imagines she's not feeling much pain tonight. The backs of her knees bump up against the edge of the bed and she kisses him again, deeper. But Gibbs breaks the kiss, "Jen, stop. This isn't what you want." He meets her eyes, trying not to look at the rest of her. It only breaks his heart.

She sits on the bed and flops back with her hands over her stomach. "How do you know?" she purrs again and raises an eyebrow, "Maybe I changed my mind."

"I know you and I know you didn't. You're going to hate yourself in the morning," he answers firmly, even if he's dying to take her at her word. He bends down at pulls off her shoes one at a time, noticing the skid marks on her knees and he knows she fell at some point. He looks up at her and wonders what the hell happened to her. This isn't his Jen. She hasn't been the same since California, or maybe even before that. She's falling apart.

She shakes her head with a smile, "C'est si bon, Jethro."

He sighs, "No, Jen." He straightens up and disappears into the bathroom to get her a glass of water.

By the time he comes back, she's passed out. He sets the glass on the nightstand and pulls back the blankets on the bed, tugging them from under her. For a moment, he debates taking her jeans off and eventually decides she'll be happier if he does. She doesn't stir as he gets her jeans off and into one of his t-shirts. With Jen on her side, he pulls the blankets up around her. He pulls his own jeans off and crawls under the blankets with her, curling up against her back, though he doesn't think he'll do any sleeping tonight. He'll be too busy worrying about her. He wraps his arm around her and presses a kiss to the back of her neck.


	4. Chapter 4

**[A/N: This chapter deals with the loss of a child, so if you're sensitive to that, please steer clear  
><strong>_Sorry this was so long in coming. I've been busy with work and school, so I haven't had time to write more than a few drabbles. This chapter links back to Part 1, so if you haven't read This Starts Here, I suggest you go do that. And hopefully this chapter explains the previous ones. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing._**]**

The pain is like a blunt object, stabbing and squeezing, and it's so intense, it wakes her up and drives her to tears. She doesn't say anything, just sits up and doubles over, wrapping her arms around her middle. She's silent as she tries to fight the tears, but they're already rolling down her cheeks and she can't just will the pain away, can't just wait it out like she does with all her other hurts. She doesn't know what her body is doing anymore and this is something new.

Jethro is there by her side in a heartbeat, pressed close to her. He's scared. "Jen?"

She just shakes her head, unable to think for a moment, unable to answer him. The cramps and the pain are blinding, blocking out all her other senses. She can't feel the rub of the cheap, 200-thread count sheets against her bare legs or the thin, wool blanket against her forearms. She can't hear the muffled traffic noises and the honking from the street below. She can barely hear Jethro. It feels like she's in a bubble, a void, and all the sounds have been sucked out and all the air has been bled out. All that's there is the white noise.

"Your heart?" he asks. He thinks it's another complication from her surgery and he's already out of bed.

"No," she manages to answer, shaking her head again. The pain comes in deep, cramping waves, and for a moment, she thinks it might be going away, but it never lets up. "I don't know what it is," she adds, screwing her eyes closed again. He watches her like a hawk for a moment, debating his options and his choices. As another wave passes enough that she can open her eyes again, she sees him going for the phone. "I don't want an ambulance," she says, taking deep breaths, but it isn't doing much.

Jethro crouches beside her, looking up at her and it's clear he's questioning her decision, but he doesn't say so. Instead, he just asks, "What do you want?" Anything, he'll do anything.

She can't think, it hurts so much. She just wants to curl up into a ball and die. "Grab my sweatpants," she responds after another moment that seemed to go on forever. He does as she asks and she slides from bed, trying to fight the natural instinct to double over again, but she's still hunched over as she pulls on the sweats with NIS down the leg. Her bare feet are cold on the thin carpet and somehow, she manages to find her sneakers. Style is not an option; she's not even going to bother changing her shirt.

His hands are on her shoulders, her arms, anywhere he can put them as she dresses. Now he's noticing how pale she is and her skin is clammy. "Jen..." he says, but he's not sure what else to say. His heart is pounding in his throat and he feels useless. There's not a damn thing he can do right now.

"Go hail a cab," she says. She's all one word answers and short sentences and he's never seen her like this. Even on her worst days at his house, she was never in this much pain. He can't help feeling like he's about to lose her, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognizes that she's making life-preserving actions when he had been so certain she'd just give up. He's afraid to leave her side, but he can't ignore the sense of urgency, so he grabs his wallet and heads for the elevator. When he's gone, Jen sinks to the floor, arms wrapped around herself. Whatever is going on, she wants it to be over.

A few minutes later, she joins Jethro outside in the street. He hasn't been able to hail a cab yet and she stands there with her arms crossed, her shoulders hunched, her eyes closed. He glances over his shoulder at her, watching as the wind pushes at her and whips her red hair around her face and he almost feels like she'll blow away. His attention is drawn away from her as a yellow Prius pulls up in front of them.

"Whatever emergency room is closest," he barks at the cab driver. The cabbie pulls out into early morning traffic and Jen huddles against Jethro, barely changing her position from how she was standing in the street. She keeps her eyes closed and the tears have stopped, but she sniffles between deep breaths. "Oh, Jen," he says as he runs his hand through her hair. She's breaking his heart and he's not sure how many pieces his heart can break into before it can't be put back together.

Without moving, she says, "I'm not dying, Jethro." Well, she is, but it won't be today and it won't be tomorrow. She's starting to think this is just another part of the ALS rearing its ugly head; she was told to expect muscle cramps. Or maybe these were menstrual cramps unlike anything she's ever had before. She'd been like clockwork until the surgery and then all bets were off. Her body has been through hell over the last few months and she honestly wouldn't be surprised if it turns out it's giving up on her. But it doesn't feel like that.

"You better not," he answers as the cab pulls up at the only ER in downtown Manhattan. Jen checks in with the nurse, giving her name as Jennifer Gibbs without even thinking, and has her basic vitals taken, then they're parked in the waiting room with a promise that a doctor will be with them soon. She leans against Jethro again, going back to sitting with her eyes closed. When she's just sitting there quietly, all she can feel is how much it hurts. She tries the deep breaths again, even just as something else to focus on, and before she knows it, they're calling her name. It's only after she goes in with the doctor that the bleeding starts.

Jethro stays behind, knowing he'd just get in the way of her pride and when she finally emerges from behind the double doors, he feels like it's been an eternity. He gets up from the uncomfortable plastic seat and cuts the distance between them. She doesn't look up at him, doesn't look anywhere but at a spot somewhere on his middle. He bends at the waist slightly, trying to catch her eyes and he doesn't like what he finds there. The fire he'd started to see come back into them was gone. She's dead alive. He doesn't need his gut to tell him something happened.

"Jen, what happened?" he takes her shoulders in his hands, "Are you okay?"

She shakes her head and he's not sure what she's saying 'no' to. 'No, she's not okay' or 'no, she won't tell him what happened'? Then she fills in, "Not here. I just want to go home."

"We'll go home, then." As they start for the ER entrance, he wonders if she'll go back to shutting him out or if she really will tell him. Outside, she surprises him by starting towards the subway station. "You don't wanna take a cab?"

"Save the money," is all she answers with.

It's a short ride, just a couple stops uptown, but they sit in silence the entire way. She's withdrawn into herself. Her posture is closed off, her arms wrapped around herself again, not leaning against him like she had done earlier. Jethro keeps his eyes on her. The not knowing is killing him. He can see she's still in agony, but a very different kind. And again he feels useless. He will until she lets him in.

They get to the hotel and ride the elevator up to their floor, still in silence. He follows behind her, not taking his eyes off her, but she doesn't seem to care. Jethro is starting to wonder if they gave her something for the pain because she seems so numb and unaware. He lets them into their room and Jen goes straight for the chair in the corner by the huge picture window, stepping out of her sneakers as she crosses the room. She pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them, resting her cheek against one. The room overlooks all of Manhattan and the view is spectacular on clear days like this one, but Jen isn't seeing it; she's just staring out the window at nothing. It's a million-dollar view that would make most people happy, but it's wasted on her.

Jethro comes over with a blanket he ripped from the bed, that same scratchy, thin wool one and drapes it over her, but she doesn't move. He's not even sure she heard him come up, or if she even realizes he put the blanket around her shoulders. Crouching in front of her, he says, "Now will you talk to me?"

For a moment, she doesn't move, still sitting there silently with her toes sticking out over the edge of the seat. She's still lost in that void. The traffic noises have picked up outside. They were gone long enough that rush hour traffic has filled the streets below, but she's not hearing them. His voice sounds as far away as the noises from outside, like the room is swallowing it up. The air feels colder than it did that morning, more still and almost suffocating. She pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders. Even though he's crouched there in front of her, she feels like there's no life in the room. Like a mausoleum.

Jethro thinks she's going to ignore him, but finally she turns her head to him. She meets his eyes and her lower lip is trembling and she's trying so hard not to burst into tears. "I'm so sorry, Jethro," she blurts out and her voice breaks in the middle and she's unable to keep the tears back any longer. "It was a miscarriage," she shakes her head, guilt all over her face, and the next sentence almost gets lost in her tears, "I didn't even know I was pregnant."

She wants to apologize again and again and again and she cries so hard, her lungs hurt. Because she knows it's her fault. For as long as she could remember, she had wanted children, but had made the choice not to because they fit into her plans as well as he had. The cosmos has given her everything she wanted only to pull it out from under her before she can even grasp what she had.

Then the realization hits her and guts her, "I was a mother for seven weeks."

_It's never easy and you never know_

_What leaves you crying_

_And what makes you whole_

_There ain't no way that I can hold it down_

_Falling to pieces_

_Forever in doubt_

_Why don't you tell me again_

_How you'll still be there_

_When the heartache ends_


	5. Chapter 5

_[A/N: Sorry it has taken so long to update this! This falls in shortly after the previous chapter. It was difficult to write because I had to go back to where the character was in November and she's evolved since then. Hopefully more updates soon.]_

Somehow, she found herself in the desert again. But at least it's the New Mexico desert instead of the California desert and she's not alone. And there's not a diner in sight. Together, she and Jethro had hopped in their rental car and wandered off into the desert to escape the hordes of children that were inundating Stable Graces. The farm's owner, Elizabeth Jackson, runs an equine therapy program for foster children and it's the part of the day when then younger kids show up. Since having met Liz on an online support group shortly after she moved to New York, Jenny has been grateful for the instant bond the two women found they had, but today, Jen just needs to spend time with Jethro.

The car rolls to a gentle stop in the dirt and the gravel and Jenny steps out into the glaring sun. It's almost too familiar for her and she can feel her pulse pick up. Jethro joins her in front of the car and together, side by side, they start wandering into the desert, each lost in their own thoughts. She's thinking about their efforts to get pregnant-wondering if she made the right decision; wondering if they'll just run out of time; wondering if her one chance had passed her by already. She looks down as they walk, shoulders brushing now and again. She has three, maybe five years to live and that time belongs to no one but them. She survived her Judgement Day for a reason. Her miscarriage was the universe getting her attention, issuing her a challenge. The universe thinks she can't possibly do this.

Jenny picks her head up and draws a deep breath of fresh air. She knows this is her second life, a chance to do everything she'd put off doing in favor of a career. She takes Jethro's hand and draws him over to a large, flat boulder off to her right. She steps up onto it. He stands there in front of the rock, watching her. She presses up against him; he looks up at her. Leaning down, she cups his jaw in both hands and kisses him.

"Here," she says, "with only the coyotes to watch." He knows what she's talking about and joins her on the rock. Things happen. As they lay there with the sun starting to go down, somehow, some part of Jenny knows: something else happened, too


	6. Chapter 6

_Dreams  
>Nov. 21st, 2011 at 2:23 PM<em>

_I don't usually sleep on airplanes, but on the flight back to New York this morning, I passed out cold. And I was so asleep, I had all kinds of strange dreams. Now, I'm not someone who usually remembers dreams, either, and what I do remember is vague._

_In one dream, J and I were out for the day, running errands or something and then to dinner. But what's weird about this dream is every woman I saw was either pregnant or toting around a small child. Apparently I've been thinking about it a lot._

* * *

><p><em>"Give thanks for unknown blessings already on their way"<br>Nov. 23rd, 2011 at 1:56 AM_

_I fell asleep on the couch at some point tonight. All I know is the live version of Countdown was still on and when I woke up, something about Islamophobia was on. So now I'm sitting here eating plain popcorn because not only do I feel sick to my stomach, but I'm starving as well. I think I know what's going on, but I'm not going to say anything until I know for sure. The big hint is coffee didn't appeal to me this morning._

_But it's just been a weird day today. It's been raining off and on and it's still really warm. I'm not sure the weather has realized it's nearly December. And yet, the market across the street was tuned into the radio station that's already doing 24/7 Christmas music. It's like this part of the year-this year in particular-is so schizophrenic._

_Thursday will just be the two of us, but all things considered, I don't mind. I worked the last three (you'd be amazed at how much can be accomplished when the entire building is deserted) and before that, I was out of the country. I haven't had a family dinner in years. I remember them, though. The last one we all had together was the last one my parents were together for. Things change drastically when kids go off to college, so my parents made a point of gathering everyone before Heather and I finished school. After she and I graduated, we scattered across the country._

_While we were growing up, even when my father was stationed overseas, we always went all out. My mother was an amazing cook and she loved to do it, too. That always makes everything taste better, I think. With our tiny kitchen, J and I are just going low-key, but that's just fine. I welcome simple these days._

* * *

><p><em>Long lost sister<br>Nov. 23rd, 2011 at 11:33 PM_

_I don't know how or when he did it, but he did. And he is amazing._

_I took a nap around 1:00 this afternoon and when I came wandering out three hours later, I found my sister and my spouse having coffee on the couch together. There were a lot of tears (not just from me) and that's all that really needs to be said. It was a perfect movie moment. _

_And I'm trying not to think about the fact that there is something I'll have to tell her at some point. Probably not this trip. There will be others._

* * *

><p><em>It was just Saturday...<br>Nov. 27th, 2011 at 2:09 AM_

_This afternoon, we bought a live Christmas tree from a guy on the sidewalk in Chelsea. It was definitely different. When we were kids, H and I would drive with Dad to a tree farm about an hour from where we lived and we would scour every inch of the place looking for the perfect one. Then Dad would cut it down himself with a saw he'd brought with him. The tree would get sent down this giant slide to the car. One year, probably the last year we went, I decided I'd go down the slide, too. I think I was nine or ten._

_But the crazy thing is, it was 64 degrees outside while we were doing this today._

_Tonight, I got dragged all over SoHo and the East Village and God knows where else in search of this restaurant my sister had been to. Though, the last time she'd been there, shoulder pads were still in fashion. Needless to say, we didn't find it and ended up at a Mexican place._

_I pretty much went to bed as soon as we got home and I was sound asleep for hours until my body decided to wake me up. Two tests later…_

_I'm pregnant_


	7. Chapter 7

December 26th

In nearly six months, nothing about the diner has changed. It's exactly as they left it that day. Jen's eyes are glued to the building as she slowly opens the passenger side door of the car she and Jethro rented. Already, her hands are shaking and her heart is racing; she feels like passing out. Across the car from her, Jethro stands there vigilantly, but his eyes aren't on the building-they're on her. She's transfixed, lost in her head, and she hasn't said a word the entire last hour. Her boots crunch on the gravel as she steps back and closes the car door. Jethro hangs back, still watching her like a hawk. He was against this from the start, but she insisted. Now, she's starting to regret it. She takes a couple steps forward and bends over the hood of the car, hanging her head between her arms. In a heartbeat, Jethro is on her.

Her eyes are closed, but she can hear his shoes on the gravel. "I'm fine," she says before he can open his mouth. But she's not fine. Her stomach is doing barrel rolls and she wants to throw up. Instead, she sucks in a lungful of dry desert air and straightens up again.

"You don't have to do this," he says, meeting her eyes.

The more he says that, the more she feels she has to. "Yes. I do," she answers, pulling her eyes from his and looking over his shoulder at the green building in front of her. She crosses an arm over her belly and repeats, "I do." Stepping around him, she starts for the door. He follows behind a few steps.

The outside of the building is deceptive. Only the bullet holes and the broken windows give away any hints at what she might find inside. As she pauses in front of the door, she wonders if any of the bullet holes are hers. She knows she never misses, but she knows she was facing an unfair number of moving targets. And she doesn't remember the details.

Jen pulls the door open, crunching and popping the broken glass underfoot. The sounds from the glass shards ricochet in the entry way, reminiscent of gunshots. Pop pop pop. Her heart can't race any faster and she spins on her heel, forced back outside to double over and retch into the dirt. Again, Jethro is beside her.

"Jen..." he starts, but she cuts him off.

"I'm fine." She spits and braces her hands on her knees. "Smells are ten times stronger now," she says, trying to justify her reaction, but there's nothing left to smell at this point. It's all in her head. She coughs and dry heaves, but there's nothing left in her stomach and she's wondering if she'll be physically able to get inside without having a full-blown panic attack. She reminds herself that Jethro is beside her the whole way. Nothing can hurt her. But logic isn't going to win this time. Her hormones are driving her emotions and everything feels like she's living that day all over again.

His hand is on her back, a light touch rubbing between her shoulder blades and she sucks in a deep breath. She swears she can smell gunpowder and iron. But the desert has reclaimed even the last lingering odors in the air. Once Vance and his team left, the building went untouched by humans until now. Only the coyotes dared to venture into a building so wrought with death. Scavengers. Creatures who thrive on death. Jenny desperately wants to get back in the car and drive home. She wants to give up and go back to the nice life she's made for herself. But she knows she can't put the past behind her until she faces what's in front of her.

Jethro keeps his objections to himself as she straights up again. She draws in another breath, but her hands are still shaking her and heart is still racing. Forward, one foot in front of the other. Again, her boots crack and pop the glass and she flinches with each step, but keeps it together enough to get inside. Like the outside, the inside is just as untouched and unchanged. The floor is covered in more broken glass-from the windows, from the photos that used to hang on the wall. Jethro hangs back by the door, watching her carefully as she moves into the space.

Even with the broken windows, the diner is still significantly warmer than the outside air. As she moves towards the booths by the windows, Jen feels smothered, like she's tangled up in a heated up burlap sack and she can't breathe. Her fingers run over the cracked and dried out vinyl of the seat backs.

"I sat here," she says softly and glances over her shoulder at Jethro, "I sat here, staring out at the landscape. Waiting." She steps up onto the seat and sits on top of the booth. Jethro gives up his position near the door, unhappy that she's climbing around on the old furniture. He's close now, within reach of her if he needs to be. She looks pale. She wants to throw up again. She wants to run away as fast as she can. Instead, as she looks out at the horizon through the dusty slats, her emotions wash over her and tears overwhelm her.

But she's not done yet.

She pulls her eyes from the window and looks around the room. She draws in shaking sobs and then says, "We talked about you. It was just like this when he said I could make it right between you and I." But she falls into silence, just crying for a moment before looking back at him. "And I did," she adds.

"You did," he repeats, still on edge as he watches her perched on the top of the seat back. He holds his hand out to her and she takes it, stepping down from the booth. Her eyes survey the room, taking in the stains on the floor. This is where her memories start to get foggy. Jen lets go of Jethro's hand as she crosses the room slowly, her fingertips lingering in his. There's one stain in particular that draws her over. Glimpses of scenes and muzzles flashes and blurry figures backlit against the windows. Her heart is racing again and the tears are rolling down her cheeks, dripping off her nose as she stares at the dark spot beneath her boots.

Her breath catches in her throat as she realizes, "I was here." Jethro doesn't say anything. He doesn't even move. He already knows where the stain on the floor came from. "This is my blood. This is where I nearly died." She needs to get the words out. She needs to get the fears and the doubts and the anger out. She needs to purge the lingering darkness from her heart. She stands there, silent, unmoving, barely breathing, crying.

And before she knows it, she's screaming, doubling over with a cry that'll leave her throat raw and her chest aching. It's okay to lose it once. This is her exorcism. This is the end of her demons.

"You won't get any more of me!" she screams at the room and at the ghosts that still occupy the shadowed corners.


	8. Chapter 8

_Hope Laid Upon Hope  
>Dec. 8th, 2011 at 3:07 AM<em>

_After I got off work today, J and I ventured over to Macy's. Yeah, that Macy's. The one on 34th St, as in Miracle On. Being a Wednesday afternoon, it wasn't too bad. We suddenly have Christmas presents to buy and Christmas Eve is two weeks from Saturday, but we're flying out to California the Wednesday before to stay with my sister and her family._

_I still haven't figured out what I want to do about my mother. She and my brother-in-law never really got along and my sister mentioned what's left of the family wouldn't be getting together this year. I hate to think she'd be alone, but I honestly don't know. I feel like there's a better argument for telling her now, because even if I am gone in a few years, she'll be able to throw herself into Petite Chou's life. At least there's time to talk to J about this._

_While we were at Macy's, we went up to Christmas land. Poor J. It was worse than that Ikea adventure. But we stopped to watch the kids with Santa, although we caught Mr. Claus right as he was coming back from a break. There was a weird moment, though, when he came up to me and said, "Relax, my dear, it'll all be fine." For a moment, I thought it was Ducky and that he and J had orchestrated something, but then I came to my senses. His words have stuck with me, though._

* * *

><p><em>I Should Be A Blogger<br>Dec. 18th, 2011 at 2:30 AM_

_So today was one of those days that was uneventful (and this post will be equally useless)._

_Except for the part where I had to go buy new clothes. And that was not nearly as fun as it should have been. Everything was either too small or too big and I decided not to bother with buying things a size up because they won't fit right. Not to mention how demoralizing that is._

_All day, I've been trying to figure out how I didn't notice this with my first pregnancy, but I had no symptoms and I was just so unhealthy that it just... well, yeah. And I can see it on J's face, too. He looks relieved, almost, even if he's not aware of it. I think how thin I am (was?) reminds him how bad things were. And as I was staring in the mirror this morning, I was thinking about where I am and where I've been. When I was recuperating at J's house in Washington, I was diagnosed with postpericardiotomy syndrome (which is basically a fancy way of saying my immune system wasn't happy with the surgery) and I remember asking my doctor-J doesn't know about this until now-if it was fatal and upon hearing that it wasn't, being disappointed. I wanted to die even then._

_But now, I'm clinging to these good days and I've done as much research as I can on trials and experimental drugs. I am not ready to die. I've been given a second chance, a chance to live a life I have always wanted but thought I couldn't have. I had my dream job and that chapter ended. Now, I have a storybook life with a husband and a baby on the way. There are still days when I wish I had Vicodin because I still have pain from the surgery and now from the pregnancy, but I have the emotional strength to take a couple Tylenol and push through it._

* * *

><p><em>Tomorrow Comes<br>Dec. 26th, 2011 at 3:49 AM_

_It's only midnight out here, but my body thinks it's 3am. I can't sleep either way. I'm covered in pets- the German Shepherd named Jack and the cat named Brownie. J is still out in the living room visiting with my sister and brother-in-law. I crashed early._

_I can't stop thinking about tomorrow. Whenever I wake up, J and I are making the four hour drive out to the diner. The one where I nearly died. I have to conquer one more monster. I still have nightmares about it. Those nights, I wake up feeling wrecked. Pictures make me want to throw up._

_But I don't know that I can do it. The old me-the one who went out there in the first place-could have have done it. She could have done it without flinching. But I'm not her anymore._

_I still don't know who I am. I'm a lot of things I never used to be: a retail manager, a mother, a wife, a victim of panic attacks, a faceless member of the general public. But none of those things define me. I'm not strong anymore; I'm not fearless. I'm vulnerable and I'm terrified._

* * *

><p><em>A sterile post<br>Jan. 17th, 2012 at 5:24 AM_

_Hello, community. It's been a while. My last post was before Christmas and I've been pretty absent from the internet in general. The holidays were wonderful and busy and I wish I had them to do over. Christmas was with my sister and her family. New Years was with Liz and The Brady Bunch. It was nice to meet some people who didn't already have preconceived notions of me._

_But right after we got back, there was an incident that I'm still struggling to come back from. Saturday, I was admitted to Lenox Hill (yes, where Blue Ivy came from) and I'm currently still here. I'm not doing that well, but I should be released within the week. Hopefully. And, as of this afternoon, Petite Chou is doing fine despite all of this. His (or her) heart rate was 177bpm. The only good thing about this is that I now have enough pictures to fill an entire album._

_However, tomorrow, I'm going to call Catherine, my assistant manager, and tell her I have to step down (read: quit) because medically, I can't do it anymore. It was a good job and I enjoyed it, but it's too much. It's also been a month since I worked more than 9 hours. Luckily, I'm going to offer her the job because she has been amazing and I think she deserves it._

_And after the hospital releases me, J and I are getting ourselves together and moving to Albuquerque._


	9. Chapter 9

Dec 11th, 2011  
>There are 8 million people in New York City. The odds of running into someone you knew from your past are slim. So imagine my surprise when my life collided with that of someone I never wanted to see again when I ducked into a small, locally owned coffee shop on the Upper East Side. It's a few blocks from the hospital, but I'd been told the coffee is worth the walk and it really was.<p>

But as I sat in the corner by the window, watching the couple of barista girls behind the counter, I never expected Jenny Shepard to appear. I almost didn't recognize her-her hair is longer; the blonde has grown out; she's lost weight; there's a ring on her hand and a smile on her face. But then she started talking to the cashier girl and there was no mistaking it. This woman is Jenny Shepard. She supposedly died in a house fire; it was all over the news a few months ago. Yet I found her here. Bossing around a couple of teenagers.

I feel like we're back on opposite sides of that table in her interrogation room. She murdered my father. She ruined my life. She doesn't get to be happy.

* * *

><p>Jan 5th, 2012<br>He spent two weeks memorizing her routine. Six in the morning to three in the afternoon, every day. She lives and breathes work. Just like he'd been told. Some things never change. And he spent two weeks watching her store while she was gone. He knows their routines, too. Today is her first day back and he is more than ready.

He waits patiently as she chats with the teenager barista girls and Catherine the assistant manager. She wishes them a good night and then her cellphone comes out. It always comes out as she leaves. She's become one of those women who call home to say she's leaving. He figures it has something to do with the bump at her middle. He's noticed how her hands are always there. The perfect tool for leverage. It'll make his job so much easier. And enjoyable.

_"Destroy her," she'd said. "With pleasure," he'd answered._

Three beats and then he follows her out the door. It's easy to catch up with her. He wraps his arm around her, away from the street, hidden by his peacoat. The gun pressed into her right side easily sways her. It gives her no choice. She goes where he wants her to go, how he wants her to.

Twenty after three, she doesn't show up at home. She never shows up.


	10. Chapter 10

**[A/N: This chapter deals with needles and sexual assault, so if that's something that triggers for you, it's best to avoid.]**

Jan 6th, 2012_  
><em>

It's dark as she wakes up. Even as she slowly opens her eyes, there's not a single ray of light in the room. She has no idea where she is or how long she's been there. The last thing she remembers is...leaving the coffee shop. As she sits up-or pulls herself into a position that should be sitting up-her head starts pounding and her jaw aches. She must have bit her tongue at some point because her mouth tastes like blood. It doesn't help with the nausea.

What the hell happened? How long was she unconscious? Jen groans as she gets to her feet, feeling woozy and wobbly. She really can't even see the hand in front of her face and she's hesitant to go feeling around in the dark without having any idea what kind of space she's in. It's damp and cold. Maybe it's a basement. As she stands there, hoping her eyes adjust to the darkness, she rubs her hand over her belly.

It's then that she realizes why she's so cold. Her clothes are missing. And now fear sets in. What did he do to her while she was out cold? She has no way of knowing.

"Oh God," she says softly into the darkness. She has to get out of there before whoever it is comes back. With her arms outstretched in front of her, she walks slowly forward, looking for a wall or a door or something, anything solid. Eventually, she bumps into cold, damp bricks.

But she's too late.

The overhead light flicks on-a single, naked lightbulb on a cord. Jen turns over her shoulder and slams her eyelids closed against the pain of suddenly being thrust from pitch black into light. Still, the silence is deafening, and no other sighs of life appear. Her eyes adjust again and she looks around the room.

Her heart sinks.

Turning around, she faces into the center of the room. It can't even really be called a room. No windows. Only a, solid, smooth, solitary door, locked from the outside. Four cinder block walls with water seeping through. It's a cell. A prison. And now with the light on, she feels exposed and vulnerable. She crosses her arms over her chest, trying to regain a little bit of her modesty. It doesn't really help.

"When I get out of here, I will make sure you don't live to see another sunrise," she shouts into the room. Her voice bounces around the walls and she wonders if there's even anyone listening.

Before she can say anything else, the door swings inward and a tall, broad-shouldered man stands there, framed in the light from beyond the cinderblock walls. "Ah, beautiful Jenny," he says with a thick French accent. Of course he knows her name; he has her wallet. He also knows where she lives. Was Jethro here, too?

"Jethro!" she shouts, but is she hoping for a response or not? Silence. She hopes he's safe. She hopes he's looking for her.

The man in the doorway starts laughing as he enters the room. He pushes the door closed behind him. No way out. "He is not here. I am only interested in you, Jenny" he says, advancing on her. Jen stands her ground, but she's defenseless against him, completely naked and vulnerable. But she hasn't come this far to meet her ending here when she still has so much to live for. She vows to fight.

"Mmm still so much spirit," he adds, continuing to advance on her, forcing her to start backing up. There's a hungry gleam in his eyes and he grabs her wrists, pulling her arms away from her chest. His eyes rake over her body, taking in her curves and her scars. She bites her lip and closes her eyes, trying to block out what's happening. Her body is for her husbands eyes only and it took her a long time to get to even that point. But now, this disgusting man was raping her with his eyes. He backs her up against the wall and pins her wrists above her head. He's so much bigger than she is. His hand is easily able to pin both of her wrists together, freeing up one of his hands. She's at his mercy.

But she can at least try.

Jen opens her eyes and brings her knee up. It connects with his groin and she spits, "Do not touch me."

He growls and shoves her knee down and presses into her with his hips. His face is so close, she can smell his breath and it makes her gag. She turns her face away as he gets in closer, whispering, "That was a mistake, dear Jenny." He has every intention of touching her. His fingers are surprisingly gentle as they glide over her skin, starting at her collarbone. He slides one finger down over the scar between her breasts and again, Jen screws her eyes closed. This isn't real. This isn't happening. She's safe at home with a man who loves her.

Her breath catches in her throat as he grabs her sore, aching breast. "Do you know what it's like to be loved," he whispers, sliding his fingers over the most sensitive part, "and then to find out that love was never real?" She doesn't answer. He doesn't need her to. He just wants his words to sink in. It's a message to pass along. He smiles and pulls back completely. Jen doesn't move, doesn't open her eyes.

"Stay put," he says, though she has no where to go. He turns on his heel, unafraid to turn his back on her and leaves the room. Jen remains against the wall and slowly pulls her arms in, wrapping them around herself-one across her chest, the other across her middle. Silent tears drip down her cheeks. What did she do to deserve this? She knows what he did while she was unconscious. And she's never felt more disgusting, like the floor of the cinderblock cell.

Jenny doesn't notice when the door swings open again and he captor returns. He comes over to her, clearly pleased that she didn't move from where he left her. In one hand, he carries a small fabric pouch and she watches as comes over. "I don't know about you," he says conversationally, unzipping the pouch, "but when I was in college, the drug of choice was LSD."

His words catch her attention and her eyes flick to the pouch in his hand. She watches in transfixed horror as he pulls out a medical grade syringe and a small vial. She can only assume the unlabeled substance is LSD. "But I bet you didn't know," he continues in that same conversational tone, "LSD can cause uterine contractions?" He loads up the syringe and tests it.

She cannot let him inject her. God, no. But he has her cornered. No, no, no. She starts to slide out from under him, trying to go somewhere, anywhere. But he wants no part of this. "Where do you think you're going?"

"You're not putting that in me," she says, backing away from him, her tone like ice. But she has to do what she can to try. Even if it doesn't make a difference. In a few giant steps, he's already caught up to her and he grabs her wrist again, yanking her arm out in front of her. She tries to wrench her arm free, feeling her shoulder straining against the tension. But she just doesn't have the strength she used to have. With a hard yank, he pulls her close and her shoulder pops painfully. "No. No, no, no!" she cries. Almost with an expert touch, he sticks the needle in her arm and pushes the liquid in. And then he leaves.

Jen sinks to her knees, bent over, arms wrapped around her middle. "No..." it's just a whimper, the fight is gone. If she loses the baby, he may as well just kill her.

And then the light goes out again, plunging her back into pitch black.


	11. Chapter 11

_[A/N: The second portion of this chapter was written with a friend of mine, not my usual writing partner.]_

Jan 6th, 2012

The floor is cold. Her hair is wet. Her skin is scraped. And the darkness is all consuming. She lays there, knees pulled up, arms draped weakly over her chest. She's beyond being able to tell if her eyes are open or closed anymore. They could be either. Maybe both. All she can hear is the sound of her own breath, her heartbeat in her ears. Her stomach stopped growling hours, days, minutes ago.

Her joints are sore and aching, but it's the excruciating pain from her chest that brings tears to her eyes. Slowly, she opens her eyes, or at least she thinks she does. It's still dark, but she thinks she can see faint outlines of a doorway. There are soft, muffled voices from beyond it, like there's a wall between her and the conversation. Absently, she runs her fingers lightly over her chest. Tape and tubes brush her fingertips.

"...shouldn't have survived," filters in, louder than the rest of the conversation. A woman's voice.

"And she's all alone..." Another woman's voice, lower than the first.

"No one has come for her?"

Jen tries to answer these voices, but her throat is so dry. Her lips crack and she licks them, trying again to get a sound out. "No," she croaks, "No, Jethro came." Even her own voice sounds far away. Can they hear her? They don't seem to notice.

The second voice speaks again, in a whisper that sounds like a shout. "I don't think she has anyone who loves her."

"He does," Jen says again, her voice breaking as the tears start to fall. Why wasn't Jethro here? Where was he? "He'll come for me. He loves me."

"Shh, sweetie. You're having a nightmare," it's the first voice.

Jen can see her now, recognizing her as a nurse. She looks up at the older woman and holds out her hand where her ring and the bracelet are supposed to be. But they're not there. Did they take them? "Where's my ring? My bracelet?" she asks, but her voice barely comes out in a hoarse whisper.

The nurse shakes her head, "You didn't come in with anything."

"Yes. I did," Jen answers, trying to force some cold steel back into her words. "It's a diamond solitaire. The bracelet, it's gold with two stones." But the nurse doesn't respond, just shakes her head and straightens the blankets around her.

When she doesn't get an answer, Jen changes the subject, "Call my husband. He'd be here. He probably just doesn't know." A tired, desperate smile graces her lips as she stares up at the nurse, "We're having a child together." She moves her hands to her abdomen, but it's flat.

Panic sets in. Tears stream down her cheeks. She's too tired to care, in too much pain to stop it. "Wh-what happened? Did I miscarry again?" Her voice sounds so small.

The nurse frowns, "You've never been pregnant, sweetheart," she says and casts a glance over her shoulder. Who was she looking at? Had Jethro shown up?

"Yes, I am!" she says through her sobs and through the tears and gasps for air.

Another nurse comes in and starts to get out a syringe and another of those unlabeled vials of liquid. No, no more drugs. Jen starts to scramble to her feet, pulling at the IVs and the tubes in her chest and the blankets twisted up at her ankles. She can't stay here. She has to go home. She needs to find her husband. The nurse moves out of the way, just watching as Jen wobbles on her feet. They're not making any effort to force her to stay. The stitches between her breasts pull and bleed, soaking through the gauze.

She starts walking slowly towards the door. "There's nothing out there for you," says the second nurse, pausing in her movements to fill the syringe with a sedative.

He has to be out there. Her life is out there, waiting for her. "You're just imagining things, sweetie. None of that is real," adds the other nurse.

Jen doesn't believe her. It is real.

She takes off at a run for the door, but the door doesn't give way. The damp cinderblock wall doesn't move as her head connects with it, knocking her back to the wet floor. She lays there, sobbing, rolling onto her stomach and barely clinging to consciousness.

Nothing is real but the puddle that smells like iron under her cheek and the light streaming in through the dusty venetian blinds. Her fingertips scrape weakly at the dry, sandy floor and the broken glass. The diner is real. She never left. The last six months have all been images produced by misfiring neurons as they die. As she dies.

She wants to die.

* * *

><p>Jan 7th, 2012<p>

He walks in, looking frustrated and tired, spinning a wedding ring around his finger. "What was so important in the middle of the night, Jen?"

"Jethro!" She practically trips over herself to get to him, but stops abruptly in front of him. This felt wrong. "What took you so long?"

He frowns and puts his hands up in front of him. I got here as soon as you called. "What do you need? I thought we had a deal." He's annoyed and it shows in his voice.

"Deal? What deal?" She frowns and reaches for one of his hands. "I need you, Jethro."

He rolls his eyes and pulls his hand free of hers. "I've tried to be fair, Jenny. But this is my first weekend off in months - which is all your doing by the way. You promised me you wouldn't call until Monday."

"I'm sorry." It's a genuine apology, but she sounds confused as fuck. "I just need your help. They tried to tell me you wouldn't come, but I knew you would." She smiles a little.

He sighs. It's long and deep and resigned to whatever she needs. As always. He rubs the back of his neck, toying with confronting her or just getting it over with. "You seem fine, Jen. What's got you so riled up? Who told you I wouldn't come?"

"The nurses..." She turns over her shoulder. Of course they were gone now. Bitches. She turns back to Jethro again and tries to take his hand once more. "I'm definitely not fine. And that's not just a stock answer, Jethro. Whatever his name is won't let me out of here."

Again he pulls his hand free and rolls his eyes. His voice is cold when he speaks. "This is a new one, Jen. You've come up with a million different ways to keep me busy on the weekends since the wedding but this is a new one. Get over it. The door is right there. No one is stopping you."

She turns around again and sure enough, there's a door right there. She swears to every god she can think of, it wasn't there a moment ago. Turning back to him, she frowns and meets his eyes. "What are you talking about? We never had a real wedding. You've been keeping yourself busy, working in the baby's room."

His eyebrow shoots up and his frown grows even colder. "Us? " He laughs a short, angry bark of a laugh. "God, Jenny. I thought we'd worked through this months ago. And how do you know Heather's pregnant?"

"What...I didn't." She shakes her head slowly. No, this is wrong. She takes a step back from him, out of reach. "What are you talking about?" There, cold steel in her words. Too bad she doesn't feel it to match.

He shakes his head again. "I'm not going over this, Jenny. It isn't fair to any of us. And you're going to leave Heather alone. I don't know how you found out but you're going to leave her alone. She can't get stressed out with whatever you're going to throw at her. So let's get back to the original question. What did you need?"

"Throw at her? I'm not throwing anything. I know you two are close, but that's her husband's responsibility, Jethro-not yours. You're supposed to be worrying about me. I'm cold; I'm wet; I don't feel well. I just need you. Petite Chou needs you."

He takes a step back and then forward again, a look of actual concern crossing his face". Jen, did you take something? I know you have before. An Ambien with a glass of wine to get through the night?" Another sigh but he doesn't actually reach out to help her. "Not yet. Jenny, I know you're still hurting over how it all worked out, but you can't keep doing this. You had the chance to let me stay in Oceanside with Heather but you wanted me back in DC. But I'm not on a leash and I'm not the one you get to call every time you do something stupid."

Again, she shakes her head slowly and she bites the inside of her cheek. Her voice sounds far away and small when it finally comes out. "No, no I haven't taken anything. I wouldn't do that." Her hand goes to her middle, but again, washboard abs. Tears well up as she looks down at herself, then back up at him and she refuses to let those tears fall. She moves on. "Why would you be staying with her?"

He's starting to worry, starting to think that she did take something and it pisses him off because she's a grown woman, not an angry teenager. Someone let it slip about Heather and now she's taking it out on them, needing more attention. But they'd come so far. They could exist in the same space as civil adults. Hell, Jenny even took Daniel out on regular days to be a good, supportive aunt. It was like they were suddenly back three years ago, when she first found out. What made her snap? "Heather and I have been married for two years now, Jen. Remember? When I asked for the week off and you found out why, you actually denied my request at first and dared me to challenge it." He tries to keep his voice neutral, calm. If she took something he doesn't want to send her over the edge.

"No. No, that's not how it is." She continues to shake her head, starting to sound panicked. Those nurses couldn't have been right. "No, she's married to Charles. You and I, we live together in Manhattan. After I nearly died, you followed me up there." She gives him that same desperate, hopeful smile. "We're having a child together, Jethro. How can you not remember that? Every morning, you tell me you love me in really bad French." She's quiet for a moment, still looking him in the eyes. "Right? Tell me I'm right. Please."

The crease lines in his forehead deepen. "Jen, after you nearly died we brought you back to DC to recover. Not Manhattan." He's starting to think she took more than an Ambien and he's walking toward her, very slowly. "We never got back together after Paris, Jenny, except after you found out about me and Heather. And those couple of nights were just a bad idea. We've been over this and over it and over it." He pauses and reaches his hands out to her shoulders." I do love you, but not in the way you're thinking. Not for a very long time."

She stares at him silently, unable to hold onto her tears any longer. When she finally speaks up, her voice sounds so small and so broken. "Was it ever real? Did you ever love me? Or was it all just part of the act." She doesn't move away from his hands. She needs his touch, craves it.

The words throw him. They've had this exact conversation before, too many times to count, but they'd finally moved past it. She'd stopped demanding justification for their time together in Paris and the endless flirting that followed when she took the job as director. He'd stopped feeling back for those times. They had moved on. So why were they back here, again, discussing whether or not he loved her. "Jenny ..." his voice is actually a little caught, "You know I did. You know I do. Just not like we left it then. We were so wrapped up in the op we never dealt with reality. You know that. We've talked about this."

"No. I don't know anything. One minute, you're telling me "Je t'aime toujours" and the next, you're telling me it was just part of an old op? We've never talked about this, Jethro. Tell me the last six months were real."

Now he's starting to think she's hit her head or something and tilts her head up to look into her eyes. But all he sees is clear fear and determination. Somehow it makes him mad and he steps back." Jen don't start this again. We've finally found some kind of peace with everything. You were just at our place the other day, when you dropped off Daniel. You even talked to Heather for a few minutes." He stares at her, trembling with confusion. "What did you take?"

"I didn't take anything. I told you that. I can't even take Advil." She stares back at him, wondering why they're on such different pages. "I haven't seen my sister since Christmas. She thought I was dead, remember? And you got her here for Thanksgiving..." She closes the space between them again, looking up at him. "That weekend, I woke you up in the middle of the night and asked how badly you wanted a puppy..." If he doesn't remember how she told him she was pregnant, she might just drop to the floor in tears.

He frowns, deep lines showing in his forehead. "You mean the dog you...found?"

Her breath catches in her throat and she sinks to the floor.

He kneels next to her, his hand on her back. He's ready to call Heather, call someone. "Jenny?"

She wraps her arms around herself but she's all out of tears. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

He stays perfectly still, waiting, watching, hoping she will come to her senses. He just stays.

"I was so convinced it was real. They said it wasn't and I thought...but you say it isn't, too."

His hand moves slowly up and down her back, "It's just been in your head, Jen."

"No. I need it to be real. I'm not crazy." She'd be hysterical if she had any energy left.

He shakes his head, even if she can't see it. "Jen, you aren't crazy. That much I can reassure you of."

Now she looks over at him. "Then what is wrong with me, Jethro? Sane people don't go around convinced they have a common law marriage with an old lover."

He sighs and shakes his head and helps her to her feet." You've just been working so hard lately. You need a break. You need to stop fighting the truth, Jenny. I know it's been hard, but you need to stop fighting it."

She lets him help her up and just stands there, staring at her feet. Not fighting it. "Okay."

He stands there with her, his hands on her elbows. "You better?" His voice is soft, but sounding like he wants to leave, like he has other places to be. "Remember, you told me you wouldn't call me this weekend. This is my first chance for a weekend off in months."

She nods but doesn't look up at him. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry I called you. Go be with your wife." Her voice breaks a bit on the last word.

His hands move on her arms, gently as they always are, full of a caring that he has always possessed for her. She is so much more than just Jenny, but she is not the one he is with. "See you Monday, Jen." He steps back, his shoes echoing in the chamber.

She tries to force a smile onto her lips. "Yes, Monday, Jethro." She watches his image get swallowed up by the darkness and she sinks to the floor again.


	12. Chapter 12

Jan 8th, 2012_  
><em>

_"Go. The door is open, Jenny, and cold reality waits for you."_

Her fingertips scrape along red brick walls as she stumbles through the alley. She keeps tripping, walking on legs that feel like jelly. Her knees are bleeding, her palms are raw. Even in the early winter darkness, the city is still too bright. The light and the blaring traffic noise pound behind her eyes. Her foot catches on the pavement and she falls again to her knees, tearing the skin even further. But she doesn't get up this time. She doesn't have the strength to move.

Or even to cry.

The frigid January wind whips around her as she curls into a ball on the pavement and she closes her eyes, desperate for the noise to stop and for the darkness to come back. She licks her dry, cracked lips, but the wind just takes all the moisture away. She's cold-so, so cold. Maybe when she wakes up, she'll have the energy to get up and go. But not now. Now she just wants to sleep.

"Hey," a firm, male voice. She grumbles. Go away.

"C'mon, give me your jacket, Charlie." Something warm and soft covers her bare shoulders. A few seconds later, another warm, fuzzy thing covers the rest of her. "We have a 10-54 at 10th and 34th. Unknown injuries."


	13. Chapter 13

_[A/N: This was written with my usual writing partner. I wrote Jen's parts and she wrote Gibbs'. There will be more in this format.]_

Jan 12, 2012

Late afternoon is starting to give way to early evening when Jen emerges from the bedroom. She's restless, wandering aimlessly through the apartment, putting lights on as she goes. She remembers yelling at Jethro for leaving all the lights on and he's since been good about turning them off. But things change. Or rather, she changed. Being in the dark sends her heart into palpitations and no amount of prescription drugs could calm her down. As it is, she's already jumpy. Her stomach is twisted into knots that have nothing to do with morning sickness.

She feels like she's going out of her skull. And maybe that has to do with feeling like she needs to keep her guard up around the man she calls husband. If it were just going to be the two of them, she might be able to live the lie with him. She could live knowing everything was just part of a deep cover. It might not even be so bad. She'll be dead soon, anyway. But she can't bring a child into that kind of life. Even if it is his child, she has to protect it. "I'm sorry," she says softly, rubbing her hand over and around her belly.

She's made a decision and it kills her. At the hospital on Sunday, all she could think about was how her world had fallen down on top of her and she was just wishing for it to crush her. But now, with a little bit of healing and a lot of thinking, she's realized nothing could damage the bond she has with this baby. They can rebuild together.

Still not having found Jethro, she heads back towards the bedrooms. After yesterday, he's probably hiding in the nursery.

Jethro sat on the floor of the nursery carefully sanding the rocking chair he was putting the finishing touches on. He wanted to make sure no splinters at all would be found no matter if it was big or little hands touching the wood. He'd been working almost non-stop since yesterday wanting to stay out of Jen's way. He knew something was going on but felt like he was drowning knowing that there likely wasn't a rescue on the way. Next to where he sat he had his copies of Jen's ultra sounds lined up like a timeline on the wall that he was talking to softly, barely above a mumble.

She stands silently in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her. She takes in the beautiful rocking chair he made and the pictures lined up on the wall. She'd been too detached to really pay attention to the ultrasounds she'd had. But even in just the short time between the first and the most recent from Tuesday, their little black dot was starting to look like a baby. She pulls her eyes from the photos and scans the room. He must have been sleeping in here while she was gone. The pillow and solitary blanket in the corner give him away. But it breaks her heart even more when she notices one of her shirts peeking out from under the pillow.

God. They've pretended this role before. Here it is again and somewhere in the middle, she fell in love with him. She apparently wasn't as good at the role as he was. As she yelled at DiNozzo for not being. Did she think this was going to end any other way besides badly?

She can't distinguish reality from imaginary anymore.

"Jethro," she starts, pulling her eyes back to him, "I'd like to talk to you."

"What do you want to talk about?" He brushed some of the saw dust off looking over at her. Jethro wasn't so sure this was a good thing even though he wanted to talk to her. He didn't stand not yet anyway.

"I want to talk about you and us," she answers. And that is almost never a good thing. Not in this context. Not when they've been avoiding each other. She takes a step backwards, not wanting to do this in that room. It's almost sacred ground. "Come out here with me, please." She's trying to keep her tone even and this side of warm, but she's freaking out inside. She doesn't want this to explode and if she lets her emotions overwhelm her, it could. It still might, anyway.

Jethro stood, his face falling a bit. He knew this was bad; she wanted to talk about them and she wanted him to come out to her. He brushed off more imaginary sawdust, moving as slowly as he could. He was scared and there was nothing he could do.

She sucks in a breath. Keep it together, Jenny. "There's no good way to start this conversation, Jethro, so I'm just going to put it all out there." She looks down, pausing for a moment before looking back up at him. This is going to hurt them both. But it's just an act on his part. "I don't trust you. I have no way to know if any of this is real or if it's all just a very detailed cover Vance gave you. I wouldn't put it past him and I know you're more than capable."

Another pause and another breath. She really feels sick now. "And if it were just the two of us, I'd go along with it. But I can't make my decisions just based on what's best for me anymore. I think, what's best right now, is for you to leave. I don't care if you stay in the city or if you go back to your house in Washington. But I can't have you here."

Jethro wants to open his mouth to say something, anything, but what best could be described as a choked whimper came out. He pivoted on his heel, walking back into the nursery. If she really believed this wasn't real, he couldn't let her see him fall apart. No need to give her ammo; say he's just playing up for sympathy from her. He carefully took down each of the sonograms and grabbed her shirt from under his pillow before moving to the bedroom.

If her heart weren't already broken, they both probably would have been able to hear it shatter with the look on his face. She follows him to the bedroom, biting hard on the inside of her lip. "What are you doing?" she asked, realizing it was probably a stupid question as soon as the words left her lips. Just because her trust was broken didn't mean she stopped loving him with everything she had. And she'd worry about him every day he wasn't with her.

Jethro flinched at her voice. This is what she wanted; why did she have to talk while he did it. "I'm leaving Jen. It's what you want. I'll find a hotel and a job when I can. You and the baby won't need to worry about money."

He drug out a bag putting her shirt and the sonograms at the bottom before going to get some of his clothes. "When I have somewhere to stay, I'll arrange to get the rest of it."

Tears well up in her eyes and she swipes at them with her fingers. She's so fucking tired of crying. It feels like it's all she's done for the last six months. "It's not what I want, Jethro, but it's what has to happen." She watches as he stuffs his things into a bag and she wants to go over to him, to touch him, but she knows she can't.

"I'm sorry, but this isn't any different from what I did to Tony and Jeanne. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him; he wasn't supposed to fall in love with her. And I knew better than to let myself get close to you again, yet here I am." All these lives keep getting ruined around her. Where would it stop? She falls quiet again, knowing she's only making things worse.

He just shook his head he didn't really believe that.

"The fuck it isn't Jen. How would Vance have been controlling me in Paris or do you think I did the same damn thing twice? I wouldn't have kids with any of my ex-wives but I'd be totally willing to have the Petite with you for a mission? How does that even make any sense?"

"I'm sure you did the same thing twice. It's always easier the second time around. He's wanted my job for a long, long time and guaranteed, the second he found out I wasn't actually dead, I became a threat to him all over again. And if a cover is deep enough, a good agent will do anything to keep it from being blown." She meets his eyes and she's quiet for a beat before saying coolly, "I would." There are things in her past that she did all for the sake of a mission, things she's not proud of. She sounds so paranoid, but she knows it's all possible.

"So you're saying a man I hated before he took your job managed to get me to pretend to love you, an agent I trained, and then somehow managed to do it again to what end? What goal would come out of this, Jen, because if not for Petite and me, there was a time you didn't even want to be alive," he crossed his arms over his chest staring at her.

She stares right back, her voice heading for subzero. "I don't know, Jethro. Maybe he wants you to make sure I don't try to get my job back. Fuck, maybe you were supposed to kill me when nobody else seems to be able to, including myself. I don't know when this started. I don't know what he wants. And I don't even know if the two of you had a part in the shooting in the diner. I still don't know how you knew to come get me when the hospital released me."

"Really, you took Mike fucking Franks with you and don't know how I knew what to do after you were shot? If you're lucky, only half the people that go to the same cantina as him know you're alive," he kept stuffing clothes in the bag. It hurt to think she could trust him so little after everything he'd given up to follow her.

"He doesn't even like me, for God's sake. He only went with me because I dropped your name. It was always all about you, Jethro." She had more to say about Mike Franks, but suddenly, she just didn't have the energy to open that can of worms. "Just go. Go back to your house and your job and the life you would rather have." She stares at him a moment longer, but her stomach is rolling and it doesn't care what the state of her life is. Jen brushes past him to the bathroom and slams the door.

"I don't know if you remember or not but I quit that job and am nearly done selling the house. I am staying in this god forsaken city so at least if you hate me, I get to be part of my child's life," he zips up the bag. Most, Jethro wants to go to her when she heads to the bathroom, wants to check on her and make her feel better, but he doesn't know if it's even worth getting smacked down again. He rubbed at his eyes fighting back his own tears.

She's hardly eaten anything recently. Four days without a meal will cure any hunger she had. It's just dry heaves and coughing, and when the moment passes, she's just sitting on the bathroom floor with her back against the wall beside the toilet. She wishes he'd come and sit with her. She wishes he'd leave without saying a word. She's wishing for a lot of things, but she knows it won't make a difference. His words rattle around in her head, about quitting his job and selling his family home and having her hate him. She doesn't hate him. She could never hate him. She curls into herself, really needing to believe this was the right decision.

He gently opened the door bringing in a glass of water and some crackers. She was pregnant and had just been through hell; he couldn't leave her there. "Here, not sure how much it will help but it's something."

Jethro shifted on his feet nervously, not sure if he should try and do anything else.

"Thank you," she says softly and tiredly as she takes the water and crackers from him. There's a moment of feeling like this pregnancy was poorly planned, but then she remembers that nobody plans to be tortured. And if it weren't for that, things would still be perfect. But a small voice in the back of her head tells her she's always felt it was too good to be true. Now she knows why. Looking up at him, just standing there so lost, she's a heartbeat away from openly sobbing. "You don't have to stay," she says, "If you want to go..."

"I'm staying as long as you need me," he crouched down not moving toward but getting down to more her level. He wasn't sure how well she'd take him touching her right now.

"I'll be okay, Jethro." She sips at the water and eats a few crackers, but she never looks away from him. She can't tell him she loves him, no matter how badly she wants to. It just compounds the lies. But she leans forward, reaching out to cup his cheek and fully expecting him to pull away. "Just. Tell me where you end up. Please."

He didn't pull away, his eyes closing as he tried to soak up as much of her touch as he could. He wished there was something he could do to fix this, anything to get her to keep him with her. "Sure, I'll let you know when I find something."

Jen takes her hand back slowly. "And I hate that it has to be this way." Fuck it. "Because despite everything else, what may or may not be true, I do love you and that's the only thing I know to be true right now."

He made a soft noise of disbelief, "It sure as hell doesn't feel like it right now."

Jethro ran his hand over his face, "I'm going to make soup or something. You haven't been eating and I need to know there's something you might eat here at least."

"I know," she says softly. When he mentions soup, her stomach growls and she looks up at him. He's trying to take care of her even as she's kicking him out. He's either a saint or deserving of an Oscar and she has no idea which. She wants to ask him if he'd know what she was talking about if she brought up wanting a puppy, but she's too terrified he won't have a clue. That conversation is so loud in her head that it has to be real. So instead, she doesn't say anything and just nods her head.

He heard her stomach and nodded, "I'll make the soup. Maybe you should lay down or something."

Jethro moved, grunting a bit as he stood as it wasn't the best position for his knees before he made his way to the kitchen, getting to work on the soup. It gave him something to focus on besides the hurt and worry.

She watches him get up and leave and she thinks about going to lie down, but she's done so much of that recently, she really has no desire to right now. So she sits there for a few more minutes, drinking the water he brought.

When the glass is empty and she's made it a good while without needing to throw up, she pulls herself from the floor. She doesn't know where she's going, but she sets the crackers and the glass on the nightstand as she passes by. She just lets her feet carry her and before she realizes it, she's in the kitchen, standing across the room from him, her arms limp at her sides.

She doesn't have anything planned to say, just opens her mouth and starts talking. "He had me on LSD. I may never know if it actually was or not. I still don't know if he raped me. I'm remembering so many conversations-between you and me, you and Heather, you and Vance. I have no way of knowing which ones are real and which ones aren't. I can't even be sure you and I are having this fight right now. I just don't know anything anymore. I can't trust you; I can't trust Ducky; I can't even trust myself." If he wants to relay that information back to his handler, he's more than welcome. She's too crazy to take her old job back.

"According to the doctors, he didn't rape you but you feel like you can't trust me so you won't believe that. I wish there were magic words I could say to make you believe me, something to make this better but besides hunting him down and putting a bullet in his brain, nothing springs to mind," he kept an eye on the soup though he turned to look at her.

Out of everything she just unloaded on him, that's what he chooses to respond with? Jen just lets out a tired sigh and drops into the dining chair nearest her. She plunks her head down on the cool wood and just sits there, staring at the edge of the chair seat. She still doesn't want to close her eyes.

He couldn't think of anything else, already working to close himself off from the pain. If he had to face it he couldn't handle it not now. He kept stirring the soup wanting to hug her tight keeping her as close as he could so he could make sure she was safe. "I wish I could understand, wish I could let you see inside my head so you'd know the truth but I can't. I'm kind of flying blind right now."

"I know, Jethro," she says to the floor. And after having unloaded that on him, she's back to being distant and detached. It requires less energy, energy she just doesn't have. She picks her head up and watches him, wishing she could go over to him, to press her cheek into his back and wrap her arms around him. She remembers having sex on the floor in the kitchen before they had a table. She remembers many, many dinners together, just talking. She misses him already.

He shifted on his feet, turning off the stove before grabbing a bowl. He transferred the hot liquid carefully before putting it in front of her. He grabbed her a spoon, putting it down on the table.

"Thank you," she says, watching him for a moment, wondering what was next. "Are you...?" she doesn't finish the question. He knows what she means. Is he leaving now that she's all set? She wants to take it all back, ask him to stay forever, her husband. But she can't. Maybe when she can trust him again. Before she dies. Because that hasn't changed; she is still dying.

"I should finish getting my stuff together. The later I wait the harder it will be to find somewhere to stay," he looked away. This is harder than he thought. It was almost easy to leave with the ex's; with Jen it felt like he was dying with every step.

Before she can stop herself, she's up and out of the chair. She presses her body up against his, her hands on his cheeks. They've been joined at the hip for so long now; it feels like she's cutting off half of herself. "I'm not mad at you. I don't hate you. I don't want you to do anything stupid."

He presses into her, burying his face in her neck as he fights back tears. She was there against him and for a minute he felt like everything was alright again. "I'll try not to," he lifted his head just enough to speak before letting his head rest against her.

"And I'm not going to let you slink away to Mexico," she says with a sniffle, "You're not allowed to get that far away from me. Because I hope you'll be able to come back to me. If you go to Mexico, I don't think you'll come home this time." She stands there, very still, almost afraid to move.

Honestly, she might have been right-if he got as far as Mexico, he might be able to lie to himself enough to just stay there. "Alright, I won't go to Mexico. Promise."

Jethro wanted to wrap his arms around her but he let them hang at his side, refusing to pressure her.

It's so easy to fall back into the familiar, but that nagging voice in the back of her head reminds her that this is all a lie. But just for a moment, she pushes that voice aside and curls into him, tucking her head under his chin, her cheek against his chest. She knows she can't have it both ways and right now, she's sending mixed signals, but she's just as lost and blind as he is. If not more.

He stayed pressed against her, just breathing her in slowly. He wanted to memorize every second of this moment, just having her pressed in tight. Jethro could only hope he could feel this again soon.

They stand there together, so, so still. It almost seems like she's fallen asleep against him until she moves her hand. It's that same feeling from the other night, the one that feels like the world's smallest butterflies. She takes his wrist in her hand and moves his hand to a spot low on her middle. She's still not sure what she's feeling, but she knows her body and she knows what her instincts are telling her. "You won't be able to feel anything," she whispers, like she's afraid her voice might break the moment and thrust them back to what seems to be reality.

Jethro let her move his hand, his eyes closing trying to imagine what Petite will feel like when he or she is really big enough to be felt from the outside. "What does it feel like?"

"Butterflies," she answers softly. And just like butterflies, the sensation is gone again. She's torn between not wanting him to miss even a second and not wanting to share anything with him. "I felt it the first time last night as I was lying in bed," she says, not sure why she's elaborating, "I wasn't sure."

"Wow," his voice was filled with awe. That was their baby and already the little one was kicking and moving. He didn't move, not wanting whatever little peace they had to fade.

She doesn't move either, living in this perfect little bubble where the outside world, real or otherwise, doesn't exist. "I know."

She can't tell him how terrified she is, still not knowing how her ordeal will affect their child. And even now, she could still miscarry. She closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his chest.


End file.
